


Black Swan

by Jeronicaloves



Series: Jeronica Week (2021) [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, I think this is Victorian, Jeronica, Jeronica Nation, Very flowery, Victorian?, Vughead, i really don't know though, i think its angst, jeronica week, jeronica week 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:49:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29962542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeronicaloves/pseuds/Jeronicaloves
Summary: Veronica isn't a princess and Jughead isn't a prince and life isn't a fairytale.\\or Veronica realizes all too late who her black swan is
Relationships: Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge
Series: Jeronica Week (2021) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200551
Kudos: 9





	Black Swan

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to classical music and It was very inspiring. I enjoyed writing this and hey my writer’s block is gone, I hope it is at least slightly enjoyable. I think this is more fairytale than Victorian though. The prompt was Victorian.

She loved parties, the ones her mother threw were delightful. Women with their beautiful extravagant dresses, handsome men, and most of all, the music was rather gorgeous. Violins, Flutes, and harps, she had tried to learn to play the violin but she didn’t have that special spark that she felt when she danced. Veronica Lodge loved dancing, it was the one thing that made her feel…. That indescribable feeling. She felt as if she was flying, floating on a cloud dancing through the sky. As soon as the music started she would be swept away up into the sky, dancing among the clouds until she would finally float down back to earth and her body. 

Today she had her seamstress fashion the most elegant white dress, that made her feel as if she was a wondrous swan floating on a shimmering lake in the moonlight. As she walked down the steps to the large ballroom it reminded her of Cinderella, but this time she wasn’t in the background, she was the princess. She couldn’t help but smile, her white feathery mask covering her eyes so no one would know who she was. No one would shrivel back because they were too scared of her treacherous father.

As she walked down the marble steps and touched the ballroom floor the guests faded away or at least it felt like they had because she saw another swan. A tall man with a glint in his eye and a mask that matched hers only black stood in the center of the big room. Her heart swelled, why? she had no idea but for some reason, she felt like this night might change her in ways she could not imagine. 

He saw her too, and as they walked toward each other he held out his gloved hand as if to ask her to dance. She grabbed it and away they went up into the sky. This was different, this time she went to that lake, to the lake that she saw in her dreams, to the lake where she was a beautiful swan and not a lonely girl. She wondered if he felt it too, she wondered if he felt the rush of joy, the rush of something so pure she could not name it. Did he see the lake? Did he know how she felt? She was tempted to pull him away and take him to her favorite place in the woods near the estate. To the field where there are so many different kinds of flowers, it would be impossible to count. But she can’t take him there, she does not know him, and he would just call her crazy like her parents. Maybe he was a kindred spirit though, maybe he would lay in the bed of flowers with her and watch the stars, maybe he wouldn’t call her crazy.

As soon as the dance started it seemed to be over, he stepped back and bowed, she curtsied to him, smiling. Then hearing nine chimes of the clock she gasped, it wasn’t just a dance, after all, it was nine, she had danced nine songs with him, yet it seemed to be one. She was supposed to be in bed at 8:30 and it was nine, oh her father would kill her. Then in a very Cinderella fashion, she ran, (as ladylike as she could of course) through the crowd up the pearly steps and out the two big doors. She heard footsteps behind her; it must be the black swan. She thought continuing at her fast pace. She flagged down smithers to take her to the Pembroke (The main building on the other side of the 50-acre estate)

“Ms! Ms can I at least get your name?!” she heard from behind her, she did want to stay, but she wasn’t allowed to, “cohort with the common folk” as her father put it. “Please sweet swan!” That one caught her off guard though, and she hesitated. Mentally slapping herself, she climbed into the carriage losing her shoe in the process. The carriage pulled out of the circular driveway, and all she could do was pray that the carriage wouldn’t turn into a pumpkin.

That night she dreamt of the lake again, only this time she wasn’t alone in the shimmering waters. The black swan was there, he floated toward her ripples following him, suddenly we're on a stage, humans, still with masks performing a ballet for a silent audience, quite similar to one she had seen with her mother. She felt like a princess, with her feathery white tutu, dancing with her destined prince. They danced in perfect harmony with each other, it felt so real when she woke up she almost thought that it was a distant, forgotten memory.

She woke up with tears in her eyes, wishing he had swept her away, off to some fairytale palace where she might finally be happy. Evermore she regrets the hesitation for not taking him to that flowery field, where they could have danced forever. Why hadn’t she talked to him? Why had she let him slip through her fingers without a word? Why did she feel such a dreadful pang for someone that she had only just met, someone she would never see again. She dearly hoped with all her heart that she really was his Cinderella and that he would come back and have her shoe, waiting to put it on her foot. She knew though in her heart that her story was far from a fairytale and if anything it was a nightmare.

Veronica had no friends, the only person she could talk to (other than her parents) was the servants, but most of them were too scared to, they did not want to anger her father. Hiram Lodge was the bane of her existence, he was her torment, her undoing. He kept her on the grounds of the estate never to escape, only allowing short visits to Her mother’s parties, but she must always be masked. Never to be seen by the public eye. She felt horrid for her mother too as she could see that their marriage was a loveless one, that they only persisted to prevent the scandal that was sure to befall the family if there was a divorce.

One of the maids disturbed her somber thoughts, coming in to clean the room and help her get dressed. She nodded toward the plump woman who grabbed her corset and light purple dress, she got dressed and headed toward her father’s library. She grabbed her favorite book, needing something to cheer her up. Then going to the kitchen to grab an apple and toast, she was going to grab her horse and ride to her favorite tree and read until the sun went down.

After about an hour of sitting back and reading the harrowing tale, she heard the clop of horse hooves from behind her. Did her horse get loose? She thinks, turning around to check, instead though, she sees a tall man with soft black hair. He dressed in a very dark green buttoned shirt with a white ruffled shirt underneath, and black riding pants. He also had a satchel on his side that appeared to be slightly open, but she couldn’t quite catch the contents of the brown bag. 

“Goodday Ms.,” he says when he finally sees her sitting at the base of the tree, he stops his horse seeming to have more to say.

She nods to him, “Good Day to you too.”

“That book you're reading, it's one of my favorites.” His voice seems so familiar but she can't quite place it.

“Have we met before?”

“Not that I know of unless perhaps I have forgotten.”

She smiles, genuinely for once. “And what might be your name?”

“You promise not to laugh?”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, how bad could a name be? You couldn’t be named something too foul.”

“You’d be surprised. My name is Jughead.”

“How interesting, were you born with a jug on your head?” she asks, finding it hard to hide her growing smile.

He smiles back, “ No, but very funny, and what might your name be?”

“Veronica, I’m Veronica.”

“It suits you,” He smiles as he says it, looking at her with his glorious green eyes. She swears she has seen them before, looked so deeply into them she felt as if she was looking into his soul. Maybe in a dream, she thinks until she realizes that they have probably been staring at each other a bit too long.

“Well, I have to be on my way, but it was nice meeting you, Veronica.”

“Yes, you too Jughead.'' They give each other one more smile, He begins to ride off, and she watches until she sees the contents of the mysterious bag and all she can do is stare as he gets farther and farther away. She remembers, all too late, where she heard that voice, her black swan had flown away and she didn’t even try to catch him.


End file.
